Learn To Live With It, Or Die Trying
by StateOfChange
Summary: Okay, my first fic, I hope you like it! Set sometime after S2 starts and goes AU from there (but I'm going to be stealing Woodbury, the prison , the Governor etc) Please review, it would make my life! This is Daryl oriented on account of I love him so Rating M for language and future violence
1. Chapter 1

**A.N:**

**(I'm opposed to writing a strong accent for Daryl into it, I'm sure you can imagine it well enough without a constant "ah"'s and "ahlways"'s and "jes stahp"'s, which tend to just distract me when I read 'em)**

**Lori has ALWAYS pissed me off, so forgive me for writing her a little differently, I couldn't have her here if she was as she is in the show.**

**This is my first fic and I'd LOVE reviews, criticism (constructive or otherwise), or whatever else you want to throw at me!**

**It's probably awful, so sorry in advance if you spend a deal of time on this!**

* * *

Daryl let out a heavy sigh.

He'd been tracking a deer now for almost half the day. Somehow every time he thought he was close enough to reach out and grab it, it was just a little further away.

His breath came out slightly foggy, a reminder that the first winter frosts were closing in.

They had moved from place to place erratically over the fall, looking for somewhere, for _anywhere_ they could rest, just for the winter. But so far they'd been driven out by Walkers every damn time. There was simply no place secure enough. They needed walls, fences. Structure.

Right now they had scavenged three delivery trucks which served as extremely sparse makeshift motel rooms. They were mobile, which helped, but they were by no means a solution.

They were cold and cramped.

Those who remained were tired and cornered, and more than a little grief-stricken, which meant everyone was more likely to complain than do anything useful.

If you asked Daryl, he'd say it was high time they pull their heads out of their asses.

Although he didn't like to complain, he was just as damn cold and tired as the rest and yet he still had to be the one to find the food, keep watch almost every night, look for possible places to stop, and kill every damn Walker that got within spitting distance.

Hell, Lori was getting ready to pop and he sure as hell did not want her to be doing that in the open, let alone near him.

Up ahead, there was the distinct sound of a snapping twig.

Daryl stopped and cocked his head to the side, looking and listening.

There. Ahead. The tan, speckled pelt of a young deer.

Daryl stopped, just breathing quietly, waiting.

It was coming his way, and the last thing he wanted to do was spook it.

Slowly, he reached for the crossbow slung on his back.

* * *

"Mom?"

"Hm?" Lori blinked drowsily, one hand resting lightly on her swollen belly, the other stroking the ever-lengthening hair of her only son.

"Do you still think about Shane?"

"Of course. Your daddy does too. He misses him as much as we do." She wasn't surprised at the question, just at the time it had taken Carl to ask it.

"I don't miss him. He ruined things. We were okay. Why'd he have to get so…" he trailed off, his voice getting thick.

"It's okay to miss him, baby. You know, this life we're living now is hard, and it's cruel. And we're all struggling. I had a part to play in how Shane acted. I had a big part in it. I'm sorry for him. I was really angry at him, for a while, too. But I've forgiven him. I know you will too, someday. It's…it's hard to understand what's going in in anyone's' heads anymore, huh?"

"Yeah. I just…I wish things went different."

"Me too."

There was a tap on the back hatch of the truck, and a moment later it was pulled up about halfway, and Rick appeared, haloed by the fading daylight.

"How's my family?" he asked softly, a little ghost of a smile playing about his lips that Lori hadn't seen in a good deal of time.

"Sleepy. Is there any dinner on the way? I'm really starting to feel like I could eat for five instead of two," Lori said with laughter in her tone. She didn't expect much. Everyone'd been giving up a little of their portion for her, and after a few days of protest she accepted their generosity without argument. She'd made sure Carl was full before eating herself, though. If it was just her, and no little one on the way to think about, she wouldn't have hesitated to give him all that she had. When there was no food at all, however, there was nothing anyone could do for the pregnant woman, or their (second) youngest comrade.

Rick's face fell a little, his eyes pained. "Well, Daryl went out early and we were hoping for a little meat, but he's not back yet. Carol cooked us up a bit of stew with some of yesterday's rabbit and some canned stuff. Smells good, but there's…well, there's less to eat than I'd have liked."

They'd lost so many people and yet there were still as many mouths to feed as ever; Lori, Carl, Glenn, Carol, T-Dog, Maggie, Beth, Hershel, himself, and Daryl (although Daryl hadn't eaten with them in some time now).

Actually Daryl didn't stay at the camp much these days at all. It seemed like he was distancing himself from them. Rick couldn't complain; he still pulled his weight around camp; bringing home kills from the forests, taking watch frequently, helping with directions when Rick asked. He was invaluable, but the only time he was around for any length of time was when everyone else was asleep and he was on watch.

They hadn't encountered a Walker since leaving the cities and main roads behind. And there was certainly more to eat when Daryl had access to a forest, as he did now; they were in a clearing just off a small, little used road (even before the dead had come back), bordered on both sides by thick woods. Daryl had scouted ahead and found the place.

He did a lot more than they gave him credit for, and Rick supposed it had a lot to do with the fact that the hunter always had an acerbic reply for any question or comment directed at him.

When they had come across the six or seven delivery trucks Daryl had set up the three that weren't full of guts and gore as sleeping quarters for the others, and cleaned out one more for his own use. But on that day Carol had asked him if he wanted to get cleaned up over at the camp, as he looked like he was "going native", and he'd told her to fuck off back to camp and try and be someone else's mom for a change. She had gone back to camp inconsolable, and apparently he'd stormed off into the woods, only coming out to relieve Rick of watch in the early hours.

Rick was sure he hadn't meant to say what he had, but he'd still chewed Daryl's ear off.

He decided that tonight he'd talk to Daryl, thank him, say how much they appreciated what he was doing. Then he would hope for the best that he'd get a "you're welcome" instead of a "go fuck yourself".

* * *

It was almost eleven and Daryl wasn't back. Rick's head was starting to bob, so he went to T-Dog, Glenn and Hershel's truck, intending on having the Korean boy take over.

After a moment's pause, he decided against knocking, and simply pulled the cargo door open as quietly as he could, which wasn't quietly at all.

"The fuck is going on!?" came T-Dog's panicked voice, and Rick hushed him, as Hershel was still snoring.

"Glenn?" Rick called.

"Glenn's not in here!" T-Dog immediately bit his lip. He'd said he'd cover for Glenn, too.

"Where is he?"

T-Dog groaned inwardly. "With Maggie."

"Where?"

"I think it's best to wait for 'em. What's up?" He was awake now, and starting to feel nervous.

"Look, can you take watch for a little bit? Daryl's usually back by now to take over, and I'm not sure I'll keep awake. I'll find Glenn. He was going to take over if Daryl didn't. I can't believe he'd go off like that!"

"Sure, man. Sure." T-Dog shook himself and extracted himself from the truck. He found a relatively comfortable outdoor chair and planted himself in it.

"Thank you."  
"No problem."

Maybe it was the fatigue speaking, but at that moment Rick felt a rush of warmth toward the man. "You're a good guy."

"Get some sleep, Rick. Glenn'll be back before too long, and you look like you need it."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

* * *

A couple of hours passed. T-Dog felt quite peaceful out here tonight. There were no bugs biting at him, no Walkers moaning in the distance. The moon was round and clear, and the stars were laid across the sky like tiny pinpricks in the black velvet of the night.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

It would have been nicer if the skin on the back of his neck hadn't crawled every time an owl hooted or a twig snapped.

Suddenly he jerked his head up at the sound of a gunshot, far away, but not far off not to hear it.

There was stirring and murmuring in the camp. People started coming out, talking. Everyone was on edge. There was another bang in the distance, and most of them jumped.

Daryl never shot a gun if he could help it, as it only attracted Walkers.

Intermittent shots rang out for some time, and there was panicked, hushed talk of leaving. Walkers'd likely hear the commotion and seek them out.

Rick shook his head. Maggie, Glenn and Daryl were still out there somewhere.

But what if Walkers came? What if other people came?

Rick squared his shoulders. "We've got three choices."


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl had been about to take the shot when the deer had fallen, its breast pierced by a rifle round. He cursed, retreating into the cover of a few thick, twisted trees.

There was a beat, and then three or four men in fatigues emerged softly from their own cover.

Daryl frowned. The military had been a no-show as far as he knew.

"Not very big, is she?" one said, his voice deep and rough.

"Food is food," came another, on the short side.

Daryl considered; he could make his presence known as likely be shot before he could spit; he could try and get away quiet and likely get shot, mistaken for a Walker or another animal; or he could try and shoot first, maybe take one or two down before they cottoned, and shot him. Fucked if he did, fucked if he didn't.

Daryl decided the second scenario was his best bet. The camp was close, and he might be able to sneak back.

He took a small step backward, feeling out the terrain before planting his foot.

It was at that moment that the tell-tale shuffle-moan-drag came from behind.

'Shit,' he cussed inwardly, biting his lip. The Walker was at his left shoulder, heading straight for the other men. It paused a moment. Lucky for him he was dirty and smelled the same as the forest. His shirt, brown with filth, blended into the tree he was pressed against, his dark hair and tan arms only slightly out of place. The Walker continued toward the men, hesitation forgotten.

"We got an RA, 11 o'clock."

"Take him down."

The first shot went wide. The second exploded the Walker's ripe, grey head.

RA? Was that military language for undead motherfucker?

"Here comes another one."

"Just like the—" bang "—other one."

Daryl looked behind him and sure enough there was a crowd of them. He couldn't take the risk of being scented.

Stealthily, in the hope that the fatigued men's attention was held by the Walkers, Daryl turned and started through the forest. He was quiet, but a Walker noticed him.

"9 o'clock."

The Walker went down, and then another round whizzed past Daryl's ear, grazing it.

"Damn, thought I had that one. Slow down, we ain't even had a first kiss yet!"

Daryl didn't even have time to speak, to let them know he was alive.

With no more warning than that amused comment, Daryl felt the next bullet tear through his rib cage. He collapsed.

The last thing he heard before he passed out was "boom! Nailed it!"

* * *

"First choice; we wait here. Now, I don't know who's out there. For all we know, Maggie and Glenn, or Daryl, found some Walkers and are taking them down. Maybe other people came along, and they got in a crossfire. We don't know."

The shooting in the distance had stopped, replaced by an eerie calm broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl.

Rick spoke as calmly as he could. "Second choice; we can take three trucks, leave one behind and hope the others get to it. Find somewhere safer, maybe come back later and look."

"We can't just leave my daughter out here, alone." Herschel's voice shook, but there was steel in his eyes. "I won't leave without her."

Rick nodded at Herschel. "Choice number three; we partner up and try to find who's missing, and find out what's going on. Other than that, I don't see a way forward."

Carol frowned. Trust Rick to feel the need to talk when action was needed. Daryl would know what to do.

"Now I don't want to be leaving people out here anymore than the rest of you do. I also don't want us all to die because some of us feel the need to take unnecessary risks." Rick glanced at Herschel, who looked, predictably annoyed.

"I don't know what the rest of you want to do, now. I think our best bet is—"

The slow shuffling sound at the edge of the woods set a heavy dread in Rick's stomach.

"Walker!" shouted Beth, her voice shaking hysterically.

"Rick! We have to go." Lori's voice was collected.

The voice from the woods startled everyone. "The fuck—", pause, cough, "are you still doing here?"

Daryl emerged, limping, from the forest; coming to rest leaned up against the thick stump of a darkly silhouetted tree.

"Daryl? What the hell is going on?"

Carol felt a sob escape her. "Can't you see he's hurt! Oh God!" She rushed over to him, too late to slow his fall, one hand pressed against her mouth, the other fluttering against his injured side. "Hershel!" She felt the edge of panic creeping into her voice. She couldn't lose anyone else. She couldn't lose Daryl.

* * *

Rick and T-Dog lifted Daryl into the back of his truck, and Hershel climbed in after him. Before Rick moved away, Hershel beckoned him over. "This wound is deep, and it's very close to his heart. If you have anything you want to ask him, you'd be best to ask now. You might not have a chance later." Hershel's faded blue eyes looking intensely into Rick's. "I'm sorry. I don't know him very well, but he was—is—a good man."

_Was_. A death sentence if ever Rick heard one.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I've kinda charged into this one full steam, and would love some reviews, just so's I know if it's worth continuing? Please? Pretty pretty please? It'd make my day!**

* * *

It was starting to get lighter by the time Rick made up his mind.

They'd shaken Daryl, tried to talk him awake. Rick had slapped him across the cheek and knew he'd gone too far. It must have drained Daryl completely to make it back to the camp injured, judging by how far away the shots sounded, and he didn't stir even as his head had jerked to the side, violently.

Rick felt washed out, exhausted. They'd been up almost all night, waiting for Glenn and Maggie o come back, waiting for Daryl to wake up, listening out for Walkers, or whoever was shooting up a storm before.

They couldn't wait any longer. They needed answers.

Rick clambered awkwardly into Daryl's truck, once a Nature's Own delivery vehicle.

* * *

Hershel had sat up with the injured man for the last few hours, wishing he had even the most basic surgical equipment. That bullet hadn't come out the other side, which meant either it was embedded in his ribs, or his left lung. The trajectory of the shot was impossible to judge because it seemed to have left shrapnel throughout the point of entry. Trying to remove it all without being able to sterilize the wound or the surgical equipment screamed infection, and if that happened Daryl wouldn't have a chance in hell.

Hershel was inclined to think that Daryl had indeed punctured his left lung.

He had asked Rick to help him place Daryl in the recovery position, injured side upward. Now he could only check his pulse and respiration as best he could. The man was febrile, and his fast, shallow respiration sounded like crackling leaves.

If he had an entire hospital at his disposal, there might be some hope. Right now, with little chance for a transfusion, or a chest tube, or even enough light to see by before the man bled out or his lung collapsed, Hershel was doubtful the hunter'd last a day. Although he had shown how tough he was time and again; when he'd run himself through with an arrow looking for the little lost girl, Hershel had been surprised. Now he was beyond understanding the stubbornness with which this man clung to life.

* * *

"How is he?"

Rick's tired-sounding voice shook Hershel from his reverie. "He's getting worse. I think the bullet pierced his lung, and some of the ribs have shattered, which is making it all much worse. And now he's got a fever as well. See that?"

Rick looked where Hershel pointed; frothy, vibrant blood lazily trekked down the hunter's face before Daryl wiped it away again. "Punctured lung. And I can't do anything about it. It'll collapse eventually, unless we find someplace with proper medical equipment." Hershel looked up at Rick, and his expression became more concerned. "Maggie? Glenn?"

Rick sucked in his cheeks. "Nothing."

Hershel, sitting uncomfortably at Daryl's back, was about to open his mouth when his patient's formerly shallow breathing began to deepen, to become urgent. He put a hand on Daryl's cheek, trying to soothe him, but soon the man was coughing and convulsing, and Rick was alarmed to see the bright red blood spattering across the truck bed.

Hershel rose to his knees and tried to hold Daryl still, and Rick came close and did the same, pulling the man's weakly flailing body to him.

"Daryl, Daryl wake up!"

* * *

Daryl woke up drowning. His lungs heaved for air and he couldn't get any, and his side hurt like a bitch, and he wasn't wet but somehow he was drowning.

He felt a wild, panicked sort of sound burning through his throat and there were strong hands on his arms, telling him to be calm but he had to sit up because he was drowning here, couldn't they see?

* * *

Rick felt the man shudder and then he was dragging himself up, using Rick's shoulders to pull himself up, his pale blue eyes hazy. The scream that came out of him was ragged and weak.

"Hershel?"

"Let him sit, but lean him toward his left side," Hershel said, guiding Rick's motions.

"'s going on? Ah, fuck!" Every word was interspersed with frantic rasping intakes of breath.

Hershel noted the bluish tinge to Daryl's lips, and cursed himself for not noticing earlier how low the man's oxygen sats were.

"Daryl, I need you to calm down. Just try to breathe slowly. Stay still." Hershel made sure to look Daryl in the eye, as the hunter continued to shift and struggle, albeit fruitlessly, against them. Rick managed to prop him up, but the pain blossomed in Daryl's chest as he leant on his injured side.

"Jesus, no. Fuck." Daryl could barely get word out through the desperate, crackly breaths he was taking.

"You have to lean on your bad side, boy. That way the blood can drain and your other lung will still work. I know it hurts but you have to sit like this awhile, and try to stay calm. It's uncomfortable, but I can't do anything for you know. Be strong and you'll get through this."

Daryl had listened as best he could to the old man as he spoke, until the last sentence came out. Then, at those familiar words, he jerked and the crushing feeling on his lungs was back as he hyperventilated.

"Daryl! Focus here, Maggie and Glenn are missing, and we need to know what happened to you, those gunshots!"

Daryl's head whipped around as Rick spoke, and his eyes tried to trace the source of the voice. His vision was whited out at the edge, but he forced himself to swallow the pain and the fear and the sick deja-vu.

"Army." Daryl managed, his tongue barely obeying him. "There…were…walkers…handful. Army…guys…shooting…though I…was one." He tried to make sense with as few words as possible.

"Army?"

"Mmhm…Maggie…Glenn…maybe…taken…"

Hershel felt a twist of fear in his gut.

"Rick…" he said, almost warningly.

"Daryl, where are they?"

"Off…led them off…got up…he…thought he missed the shot…and I…led 'em away from camp."

Daryl's face scrunched as a wave of nausea hit him.

"How did you find us?"

"Merle." Daryl breathed out in a parody of a low laugh. "Fuckin'…Merle."  
"Merle is here?"

"Dead…you killed him…"

Rick's brow furrowed.

Then Daryl's eyes rolled back in his head and he bucked, blood spurting from his mouth as he shuddered.

'Jesus,' thought Rick, 'the army and now Merle?'


	4. Chapter 4

(The Hospital Discount Drugs place probably doesn't have some of the things I wrote in, but unless you live in Griffin, just assume with me ;) )

And thank you beautiful reviewers, if you like this next bit it's all down to your encouragement!

* * *

There was nothing to be done but hope and pray. They sat huddled like fugitives in their trucks, waiting for Maggie and Glenn.

Rick and Hershel sat up with Daryl, who spent the rest of the night alternately coughing up blood and struggling for air.

Carol came in a little later, tears still drying on her face, after hearing the latest bout of rattling moans. She felt as useless as the rest of them.

At one point Daryl had been so white, and so still, that Rick had really thought he'd died. He'd trained his pistol on him, but Carol had thrown herself over Daryl's still form, begging him not to, because 'it doesn't matter anymore, it just doesn't matter!'

But after a tense moment Daryl had shifted an arm, opening his eyes with childish innocence and tracing their tense faces sluggishly.

"Can you hear me, boy?"

"Merle?"

"No, it's Hershel. Do you know where you are?"

"Merle. I…I couldn't find her. She was gone. She was dead already. I was too late."

Hershel shook his head tiredly.

Daryl tried to get to his feet, letting out a sharp hiss of pain. "I can't! Don't make me!"

When Hershel put out a hand to soothe him, the tracker flinched back, and immediately after, set his jaw, squinting. "Go ahead. I'll tell anyways." He never looked at Hershel, instead he looked up, as though someone was standing over him.

"Hershel?" Carol said his name like it was a question.

"There's nothing I can do, his fever is very high. He needs antibiotics, pain relief, a chest tube. Things I don't have!" It was one of the few times Hershel's voice betrayed his feelings. He passed a hand over his brow, sighing. He hated feeling useless.

Now he addressed Rick; "As much as I want us all to stay together, I truly don't feel comfortable leaving him to whatever fate will befall him without medical care." The old man met Rick's eyes soberly. "We need to get this man help."

Rick closed his eyes. He was afraid of this. He didn't like to see Daryl so…vulnerable. So unlike himself. But what about Glenn and Maggie?  
"Hershel, your daughter is out there somewhere. We can't just up and leave. Can we?" Rick couldn't keep the edge of pleading from his voice. He didn't want to abandon them but dead was dead and if they could have come back, surely they would have by now.

"I would like to go into the next town in one of these trucks with Daryl and another person; I suppose either you or T-Dog. The way I see things, there are only two of you young men to protect us now, with Daryl here out of the picture at present. If he doesn't recover, we lose more than just another person. We lose one of our most reliable fighters. Now I don't think we can afford that now. I would like very much for the rest of you to stay here and wait for my daughter, and for Glenn. I know Beth won't leave without her sister, and I wouldn't either, if not for the current situation. But he's worth the trouble, I think."

"I think so too. Are you sure you want to take Daryl? Wouldn't moving him be…worse?"

"At this point, I need to monitor him constantly. If he has a seizure or his heart stops, I'd want to be there. I'll ride in the back with him."

"Okay. I'll ask T-Dog if he'd rather stay or go. And Hershel," Rick looked over his shoulder as he left, "you're a good man."

Hershel nodded.

Rick left and it was Carol's turn to speak. "I'd like to go with you, if it's all the same. I—I don't want to stay up worrying myself sick thinking about if you'll get back safe or not. If he'll—be okay," Carol nodded at Daryl's unconscious form, "and I can help you. I'm no doctor, or veterinarian, but I think you'll be able to make use of me."

Her eyes were searching and as red and watery as they were from crying, there was determination in them.

"Well, I can't stop you. Not sure I'd want to either."

Carol smiled. "Thank you."

* * *

It was decided that T-Dog would drive, with the other three in the cargo hold of Daryl's truck. Rick had spoken to him and T-Dog had volunteered before Rick could even ask the question. He said he needed something to do, and Daryl had saved his ass enough. That it was time for some payback. The way he'd come out with it made Rick certain that T-Dog would take care of the others.

* * *

The roads were clear for most of the way down. T-Dog didn't see more than two or three walkers, aimlessly shuffling, as he drove into the dawn. He was more afraid of falling asleep at the wheel than a herd right now.

The adrenaline had worn off and he longed for the days when he could have chugged an energy drink and buzzed his way through the morning.

He heard the occasional shout from the truck. It turned his stomach to hear Daryl so distressed. They weren't close, not really, but over the few months they'd been more like friends than enemies. T-Dog joined Daryl on watch from time to time and talked to him. He didn't get much back but Daryl never told him outright to leave or that he wasn't wanted. He decided they _were_ friends, and now his friend was in agony, and going to die if he didn't help him. So here he was, thinking about Red Bull and coffee shots, and how Daryl had told him that stuff was disgusting.

The redneck that had no qualms about eating raw squirrel meat had condemned his caffeine addiction. T-Dog grinned.

* * *

It seemed they were headed for Griffin. There was a low smell on the edge of T-Dog's senses like a warning.

He didn't want to make more noise that the truck already did, but he had to ask, "okay back there?"

"Sooner we get there, the better, for all our sakes" replied Hershel.

* * *

When they were within the city limits, the scent got stronger. It was a fight not to turn away. They'd all smelled burning bodies before.

It seemed there was a pyre just past the city, leaving the whole place with that familiar stench of death and disrespect.

T-Dog swallowed his revulsion and pushed on, looking for signs of a medical center, or a hospital. The first thing he saw was a sign for a shopping center.

It could be the best they'd get.

T-Dog made a decision. The trucks were fairly secure when it came to Walkers.

He'd go in alone, armed, of course, and leave Carol in the cab. If things got bad, she could circle and wait for him. They all knew it wasn't the best plan. But it was the only plan.

* * *

T-Dog felt like he had ants crawling up his spine. He was so exposed when he removed himself from the truck and came around to open the back of it for Carol.

And that left nothing for T-Dog to do, but head into the mall for some early morning shopping.

The place was deserted as far as he could see, and usually you'd hear them before you saw them, and he couldn't hear a thing.

What he did see, in the supermarket…

Well, he'd seen shops raided and raided some himself, if it could still be called that; but this was different. This was every shelf stripped, _everything_ gone.

He stared for a while, wondering how anyone would have the time or the energy to do this.

He checked the health aisle anyway, but it was the same as the others, stripped down to the racks.

It was bizarre. Even the clothing was _all_ gone.

And there were no Walkers in sight. They had been burned, supposedly. No, he corrected himself; they were burning.

Which meant this was probably recent. Rick said that Daryl had mentioned the army. Was this army? Had they done this? It was certainly organized, precise.

No Walkers, no nothing. A ghost town in the most sincere way.

There was a place, the Griffin Family Medical Center, but it was as empty as the others.

* * *

T-Dog came out pensive. Maybe the military were clearing out the cities of Walkers.

Maybe enough had survived to go mobile. A little inkling, of something more than just surviving; of living again, entered his mind.

But that was a thought for later.

Now, he had a friend in need.

They left, T-Dog simply saying there was nothing in there.

* * *

After a couple minutes, it seemed they were headed for a medical district.

There were following Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway, until the regional hospital signposting went up.

Spalding Regional Wound Healing seemed the way to go. It was backed by Hospital Discount Drugs. T-Dog figured he'd ask Hershel what drugs he needed after T-Dog had found out if there were any to be had.

T-Dog drove them up as close to the door as he could, and told Carol if she saw anything, to back around into the driveway of a house they'd just passed.

He entered the building, and noticed straight away the intense quiet. It was eerie.

He squared his shoulders and went for the examinations rooms.

The first few rooms were entirely empty, but as he moved further back, some were left untouched. It seemed the army boys had had something more pressing to deal with.

There were syringes, bottles of pills, charts with symptoms and causes, sheaves of paper, wound dressings, pamphlets, in fact, fully stocked exam rooms.

"Jackpot!" T-Dog grinned widely.

He grabbed one of the pillows off of the comfy-looking bed, and proceeded to fill it with everything that looked useful.

There was more than it could fit, so he took one from anther bed and did the same.

The truck was still outside, so T-Dog brought his haul out and deposited it in Hershel's lap.

"I did good, huh doc?"

Hershel gave a look of surprise, rifling through the pillow cases.

"There's a drug store. I'll check it out and come back as soon as I can." T-Dog glanced over at Daryl, slumped against the side of the truck. "What do you need?"

"Antibiotics, whatever pain relief is there. Syringes. I could do with a chest tube and some proper suction but that's a pipe dream at best. Just bring as much as you can, I'm sure we'll make use of it."

T-Dog nodded, and jogged back into the clinic. He took the pillows he stripped, as well as two more, with him as he reached the adjoining pharmacy.

It was in disarray.

There were blood spatters here and there, a bloody drag mark. Looked like Walkers vs. commandos had gone down.

Still, there were antibiotics in one place, pain relief in another. The stronger stuff was always kept in the storeroom, so T-Dog filled a bag with various bottles and jars, syringes, and of course more bandages, plasters and sterilizer than he would have expected there to be. He grabbed as much as he could, and then surveyed the rest of the store.

There were a lot of other things left; soap, toothbrushes and paste, energy drinks and bars, supplements. T-Dog just grabbed as much as he could carry, and jogged back to the truck.

It was there. How could it be this easy? It was _never_ easy.

"Guys, there's so much stuff!"

He realized after he'd said it, that the drivers' seat was empty. "Carol? Doc?"

The back was empty.


	5. Chapter 5

Carol and Hershel watched as T-Dog searched the truck, called for them. He got frantic, and sat down on the pavement. He put up a fight when they came, them in their fatigues, with their big guns and bigger egos.

She sobbed as one of them slammed the butt of his rifle into the back of T-Dog's head.

They had come while he was inside, and it had been luck that the group of ten or twelve had searched houses first.

Carol had climbed out carefully, and motioned to Hershel.

They tried to move Daryl but his fevered ramblings called the soldiers over.

So they'd hidden, and seen him get pulled out, roughly, and taken in one of their big ugly vehicles. Hershel had felt tears soak the back of his hand as he held it over her mouth.

He wasn't a coward, and didn't feel he'd have to explain his motives.

The only thoughts in his head were Maggie. Beth. Carl. Lori. Rick. Glenn. Carol.

If he'd let them all be taken, no-one would know what had happened. The group would be divided, torn apart and tossed to the winds. He had to keep at least some of them alive, together.

So he left the dying man to them, these rough soldiers, and he left T-Dog too. But at least they didn't have Carol, and they didn't have him, and that meant the others would know what had happened. Because right now nothing was certain until it was in front of your face.

* * *

Daryl felt as though he was falling upwards, slowly.

He tried to struggle against the unfamiliarity and it was like wading through half frozen ice. There was a sick warmth to his shivering skin, a tingle like lightning bolts.

He coughed, once, twice, and then shuddered, forcing himself to stop, gagging as his body tried to expel the copper in his throat, but he couldn't cough again, because it hurt too damn much.

There was a bang, and he wasn't sure if it was in his head or outside of himself.

And suddenly low noises, noises that were familiar and certainly meant something. A voice.

_T-Dog_, he realized, and the realization didn't mean anything.

It was Daryl had cotton in his ears, except T-Dog's voice was coming through tinny as well as muffled. A bad recording from the next room, or a stereo underwater.

"'s going on?" he heard himself say. And his world was shuddering all around him, and his focus was blurred.

"I don't know, man! They're army guys or something, Jesus, have you seen Hershel? Carol?"

He couldn't seem to make his tongue work because the pain was creeping into the skin of his face, leaving his body feeling dead and empty.

"Daryl man, this is serious shit! You gotta be okay! I'll get us out of this…"

And as out of it as Daryl was, he knew T-Dog was bullshitting him.

"Help me," he huffed, and started to push himself forward, because he was sure someone was sitting on his chest, and it was only getting worse.

He felt big hands guiding him forward and god did his ribs protest, but he could get a little more air.

"Better?"

Daryl tried to nod yes, but there was a sudden jolt and his vision abruptly cut out. And at least, for a short while, there was no pain.

* * *

He was aware of the passage of time in an arbitrary way. The pressure on his chest was back whenever he surfaced, and he was burning. And he knew time was passing because first the pain was tearing him apart, and then it was the itching of the healing wound that drove him crazy.

He never once opened his eyes, but he was sometimes aware that it was dark, and sometimes it was light in the universe outside his closed eyes.

He thought he would die, or that he had.

Eventually he started to take note of his surroundings. He'd hear voices close by sometimes, usually angry or frightened, or both. Sometimes laughing, but not often.

And he was lying on a stretcher, or a bed, with rough sheets below him. He was cuffed to whatever it was, on both sides.

That recognition had set his heart thudding painfully before, but now it was just another fact.

He vaguely remembered T-Dog being near him, and the others had been somewhere.

There was a little girl missing. But not _her_. Not the one he had spent years trying to make up for. This one was his chance to atone.

He didn't remember for a long time that it was too late for Sophia as well.

* * *

"Up. On your _feet_!"

Rough, angry hands were at his wrists, and he was free.

Free, and a Dixon. That mean, _not tame_.

He lashed out, feeling his fist connect solidly with warm flesh, and he tore his eyes open, reeling at the blinding whiteness of the room.

There was a harsh scream, and crimson on his knuckles, and Daryl smirked. He'd broken the SOB's nose.

But now he was faced with four or five pissed off, meaty men in camouflage pants.

He sucked in a breath, ever aware of the encompassing lack he felt in his left side when he did so.

"Watch him, watch him!" One of them muttered, and they circled him—there were five—, like rats around fresh meat.

"Fuck's going on?" Daryl shouted, glancing around the white room, his shoulders bunched and tense.

Nobody answered. They just came, landing blows where they could, which fell on him like a brick wall.

He put up a fight, of course he did, but they were big and when the first fist hit his injured side he was winded.

His frantic struggling grew sluggish as his head span and his lips turned blue, but they kept beating on him, mercilessly, until his world went black once more.

* * *

T-Dog tested the rope around his wrists, not holding out a lot of hope. The first time they'd bound him he'd fought 'till his wrists were raw. Now, he simply fumbled for a minute, looking for weakness.

He wasn't sure how long they'd held him.

They'd beaten him to a pulp four times since he'd first been thrown into the back of that truck. Every time, they'd wanted answers. Where was the rest of his group? He wasn't alone, because he had been calling to people, "Carol", "Doc", and they'd heard him. So where was the group? It had been as condescending as being back in school, except that every time he didn't answer, they'd hit him.

It had been a long time and by now the group was probably elsewhere. But that didn't mean it was okay to tell.

He'd taken everything they'd given him without a word of protest. Because damned if he'd let these bitches break him.

He had asked about Daryl for a while, but now he was sure the man was dead.

He could recall the truck ride with some clarity despite the bash on the head he'd taken, and if Daryl hadn't been dead when they'd unloaded him he was surely dead now.

The thing that ate at him, though, more and more, was how long they would do this to him. How long would they ask the same questions? Would they end up killing him one time? Sure, in between what they called questionnaires they'd let him heal a little, but the waiting was worse than anything he'd ever been through.

So when they dragged him into the familiar room, that had been a freezer before the lack of power had rendered it just a metal box, angrier than he'd ever seen them, he was almost relieved. Almost.

And then they'd just left him there. So here he was _waiting_ again.

The door opened with a clang and T-Dog couldn't keep himself from jumping.

When they started filing back in he realized there was something much worse than waiting. There was watching.

* * *

No, this was all wrong. Gravity wasn't playing by the rules. His feet were where his head should be.

"Daryl?"

The familiar voice made his eyes snap open. "'s going on?" He turned his head sideways, and the world spun, coming to rest something like normal. T-Dog was sitting in a chair directly in front of him, in an otherwise Spartan, dully lit room.

"I thought you were dead!"

"Me too," he said sincerely, his stomach lurching alarmingly as he swayed gently. He was tied upside down in—"we in a fridge?"

"Man, these guys are army or something; they want to know where the group is."

"Did you tell 'em?" Daryl felt sticky warmth oozing nauseatingly slowly from his side, from his temple, his lip.

"I didn't tell them a thing! They'll look for us, Rick and the others. They'll do something. We can't sell them out. Look, it's gonna be bad. They've been trying to get it out of me, and they ain't real polite either. But we can't tell them. We can't."

"You think I'm a pussy or something?" Daryl spat, frowning. He could feel his face going red, both from anger and his inverted position.

"No, of course not! I'm just…shit, are you—"

Whatever T-Dog had been about to say was cut off by the slam of the door.


End file.
